


Every Body is a Betrayal Waiting to Happen

by Adventine



Series: Evil Medieval AU [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Beads, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dick without morals, Dubious Consent, Humiliation kink, I don't know if I should be more sorry or not sorry at all, I don't know where the plot is going I build it as I go, Inverted Bat Ethics, Jason discovers he's a sub in the hands of an evil prince, Kink - freeform, M/M, Manipulative Dick Grayson, Nipple Piercings, Non-Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Thirst - Freeform, Un-betad we die like men, What Have I Done, absolute filth, magic deals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-03 14:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventine/pseuds/Adventine
Summary: Dick had always had a cruel streak when they were growing up, subtle as the dawn and sharp as the wind. Jason should have remembered that, because if he had, then he would never have come back.Or—Evil!Medieval AU where the leader of the Outlaws and ex-second prince Jason Todd returns to the Kingdom of Gotham only to find that not everything is as he left it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. 
> 
> I have no excuse, except that I have been burning with an unquenchable need for some kink after the wonderful explosion of Omega!Jason fics during the holidays. Literally, this is just to tide me over, but if you want to share your thoughts regarding this universe, hit me up in the comments!

Dick had always had a cruel streak when they were growing up, subtle as the dawn and sharp as the wind. He had an uncanny grasp of human nature and how to use it best to his advantage, an art Jason had always been too impatient to master and too young to value. He had always preferred force over tactics, drama over diplomacy, so that whenever they would fight, it was always Jason who would turn words into fists, driven to violence by the cutting edge of Dick's tongue. He had never minded it much before, he barely even remembered it, not until now, because it had seemed inconsequential against the larger body of pains and scars he already carried with him.

 

Now though, the revelation rings through his body like a bell, reverberating clearer with each swing of the baton that falls on his exposed body. The beating was controlled enough not to break bone but definitely hard enough to bruise, finding the softest spots, the tenderest places he did not know he had, with a precision of a man intimately familiar with bodies and their secrets.

 

Jason should never have come back.

 

He'd only returned to Gotham because of the rumours that had spread like wildfire from the borders. Criminals (thieves, prostitutes, swindlers, and street rats like him) were passing through Bludhaven, hunched over and trembling, speaking of an iron justice newly fallen in the kingdom. The Outlaws had not known what to do with it, and Jason, being the naive fool that he is, had volunteered to find out what had taken hold of his estranged family.

 

Damn his stupidity. Damn his foolish optimism. Damn the fucking rebellion and his stupid ass for agreeing to do this. Because what had met him at the border was Dick, newly cruel and lacking his old compunction for pacifism, and an ingenious trap he’d been too blindsided to notice until it was too late.

 

A particular strike makes Jason arc viciously off the mattress, the leather binding the only thing preventing from falling clean off it. Jason wants to suffer from this beating, prays desperately for the sensation of excruciating pain, because pain is simple, _pain will only make him angrier_ , but Dick strokes him to hardness every so often, so much so that he’s become a mess of sensations trussed across the frame of the bed, teetering either on the brink of pleasure or of pain, but always in the throes of an overwhelming agony of sensations.

 

When Jason’s whines begin to escape through his lips against his will, Dick sets aside the batons and checks his work. His hands are cool as they slide over his stomach, his thighs, and dispassionately, over his cock, which is rock hard and weeping traitorously against his belly. Like a cat, he leans down and gives it a cursory lick, teasing the head in the curl of his tongue, and Jason _wants to scream_.

 

“You will enjoy this more yet,” Dick whispers to his flushed weeping member, and it is all he can do to clench his teeth and close his eyes against the feeling of those lips mouthing him with patient sadism. “Though I see you barely need any prodding on my part.”

 

“Not on your life, _Richard_ ,” he snaps, and with the last of his control, he aims and spits. It lands right beneath Dick’s eye, and he bares his teeth like a barbarian when the prince pauses what he is doing to look at him critically.

 

“Do you really think a little expectorate will be enough to anger me?”

 

Slowly, Dick wipes away the saliva from his face. To Jason's horror, with the same fingers coated in his drool, he rubs the tight furl of his bared entrance in one graceful counter, exposed as he is with his knees bent by his ears.

 

It is a gesture that is as cruel as it is obscene, one calculated to decimate his pride and undermine his defiance. He cannot deny that it is very successful.

 

“I have been waiting so long for you to come back to me, little wing. So very long.” When the saliva starts to dry and the friction begins to burn, from somewhere Dick pulls out a vial of oil and pours it over where his finger is rubbing little circles against him, continuing to massage his ring into a more accommodating shape. He can feel the oil entering him slowly, seeping into any space it can find with every motion, and in a terrified response Jason bucks against the violation. It is a terrible reaction, for it only opens him up even faster, and soon the tip of Dick’s finger begins to slide into him. Not enough to breach, but enough that the pad begins to plunge into him, his muscles giving way more and more with every breath he takes.

 

“I bet you’ve never let anyone do this to you before,” the prince says with a little laugh of pleasure, rubbing his cheek against the meat of his thigh. “You’ve always liked your control iron-clad.” A tongue licks a hot stripe on the underside of his cock. “Uncontested.” The finger moves away briefly to tap against him, and there is no more resistance to speak of, only a hungry suction from the oil and his hole that meets it. Every tap reverberates through him, and his entrance feels like it is burning with eagerness, waiting hungrily for every ounce of pressure that comes its way.

 

If only he had some space to think, he could find a way to escape from this. If only he had a little space, a little time, he could make a plan and maybe—

 

“But I had an inkling you would take to this magnificently.” Tap. “Even before you left,” Tap. “I knew you would take better to the lash than to sweet words.” Tap.

 

His body, frustrated and moving without his permission, jerks violently on the next tap, forward instead of back, and this time the finger sinks into him as smooth and easy as silk. It feels good, desperately so, and Jason exhales in a silent scream of _finally_ and _no_. 

 

 _It is only because he is making me feel these things,_  a small voice tries to rationalize, deep in his mind. _I do not really want this_.

 

Because it is one thing to endure a violation; quite another to enjoy it. 

 

He does not know he said that out loud until Dick answers him.

 

“Do you really think that?” he asks curiously. The finger inside him slides in and out at a leisurely pace, massaging his inner walls in curious exploration of the new territory it has opened up. Another joins it soon after, and every scrape is enough to curl his toes. “Do you really think that any of this—” the fingers curl at a different angle and finds a spot that makes Jason convulse in pure lightning pleasure “—is possible without the complicity of your own basest desires?” And as if that isn’t enough, Dick angles himself so that Jason cannot look at him without seeing his own hardness, angry red and straining beside Dick’s cheek.

 

 _These are not my desires!_ he wants to shout. He’s never wanted any of this before, never dreamed of anything like this.

 

 _Focus_. He needs to focus. There must be something he can do, something that will not make the endurance of this depravity worthless.

 

“W-w-why,” he grits out, barely coherent. Why me. Why this. Why any of this at all.

 

Dick’s fingers have stopped thrusting into him, and are now content to simply stroke the traitorous spot inside him in one endless press. His other hand, which before was holding him down, is now rubbing a bruise on the inside of his thigh, while his tongue, _god his tongue_ , is licking the seam where his fingers disappear into Jason, alternating between kittenish licks and spearing thrusts. He is aching in one long continuous pulse, throbbing from both within and without, and if before the sensations were intense, now they are excruciating. He’s thrashing like a rabid animal on the bed, he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he is babbling in his mind for something to _please please please please—!_

 

Coming blinds him momentarily; it is that brutal. It is a small mercy.

 

As he floats lethargically in the haze of his own unraveling, he can feel Dick nibbling another mark on the crest of his hip, but he cannot find in himself the energy to fight him off.

 

“What other reason do I need other than it pleases me to see you like this?” A small kiss now instead of a bite, and it would feel sweet if not for the hint of teeth Dick purposefully makes him feel. “The mighty Red Hood, leader of the Outlaws, rebel prince and hero of the poor, prodigal son and thorn of Gotham, finally returned to his rightful place at Court. You will be my most magnificent conquest, and I have only had you for a few days and with a few fingers. Imagine what more I could do to you.”

 

Another kiss.

 

“Imagine how much more I could make you take.”

 

Jason shudders.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little plot to go with the porn. Basically details how Jason decides on his ill-fated decision to return home. As we all know, he miscalculates the odds in his favor very badly.

“There’s something happening in Gotham.”

 

All of them are used to Artemis starting conversations right in the middle, so his hand barely stutters where it is sharpening one of his knives. From beside him, Kori looks up from where she is sewing one of her dresses, and Roy stops re-stringing his bow.

 

“There is always something happening in Gotham. That is hardly news,” he replies.

 

Undeterred, Artemis crosses her hands and squares herself against the door frame. Gods. So this is going to be a long conversation then, if she is already digging her heels in. If it had been anyone else, he would not have been so bothered, but Artemis has always been just as impatient with conversation as he is. Her choosing to broach this with them means whatever it is she has to say is more important than her discomfort, and she is going to make them listen one way or another.

 

Sighing, he puts down his knife and braces himself, waiting for her to continue.

 

“There has been talk passing through Bludhaven of a purge sweeping through Gotham. It seems minor yet, but it has been ongoing for a few months.”

 

“Minor how?” Roy voices the question for him.

 

“It’s been mostly confined to the criminal denizens of the lower kingdom. Petty thieves, sellswords, slavers, and some of the more dangerous weapons traders. We wouldn’t even care at this point if not for tales they seem to be carrying with them.”

 

“Which are?”

 

“That Ra’s Al Ghul has been spotted entering the palace and dining with the king. Moreover, his appearance seems to coincide with the sudden changes sweeping the Gothic court.”

 

Ah. That is worrisome.

 

The Waynes are one of the royal families the rebellion had always cast a wary eye over. For the most part, the Gothic kings were traditionally isolationist, preferring to limit themselves to the confines of their borders. The Al Ghuls were somewhat similar, historically content to safeguard their secrets in the desert rather than mingle with the rest of the continent, but recently the Demon Head has shown a growing proclivity towards expansionism. That both royal families were suddenly liaising after centuries of disinterest was suspicious, and the timing of their interaction and the events occurring even more so.

 

“What do the scouts have to say?” This time it is Roy who speaks up.

 

“Very little that’s useful, actually. If anything is going on, the Waynes have managed to keep it a secret from every one of our sources. We do not know anything for certain, which only makes the whole thing more questionable.”

 

Jason’s interest is definitely piqued at this point.

 

“You want to investigate,” he states baldly, and Artemis’ silence confirms it more than any prevarication can.

 

Kori, ever the war-princess, does not agree.

 

“We can’t risk anything foolhardy right now, not when we are so close to completing our attack on the Queens in Star. Without any real gains to be had, it seems pointless to send anyone to Gotham without something more concrete to go on.”

 

A fair point but also—

 

“Ra’s has a daughter.” Everyone turns their attention to him. “And this might be the beginnings of a marriage talk.”

 

And if it managed to push through, what a union it would be. An alliance between the Demon Head and the Gothic Court would combine two of the larger kingdoms on the continent, and even the Sun King Kal El would think twice before attacking a force like that. The Outlaws, formidable though they might be in their own right, would not stand a chance.

 

It would be foolish to let something of that magnitude come to pass without their interference. The wisest solution would be to sabotage the whole thing before it can even begin to become a problem.

 

“I’ll go,” he says without preamble.

 

Understandably, Kori and Roy both protest. Explosively.

 

“ _Jason_.”

 

“Are you out of your _mind_ —”

 

He has received the cacophony of these particular arguments before, and he knows he has to forestall them before they gain enough traction to bury him alive.

 

“Listen.” He raises a hand, and thankfully, both of his friends acquiesce, albeit unhappily. “Neither Artemis nor Kori are any good at stealth, and frankly, if the attack on the Queens is to be of any significant success, both of you are needed on the front lines. Roy might be able to enter Gotham undetected, but he is the only one who knows how the Star is laid out, so we cannot send him either.”

 

His logic is sound and reasonable, but it will take more than that to sway them. After all, he left Gotham for a reason.

 

“Simply because everyone else is unsuitable does not make you the best option, little one. It is not like anyone in Gotham is apt to forget the face of one of their princes, estranged though he may be,” Artemis says, but he can tell she is only raising the point to solidify his argument, not undercut it. The issue of his heritage is a significant obstacle, but one he is ready to answer anyway.

 

“You overestimate how much the people of Gotham cared about their second prince. If I was as beloved as Richard, I might be more wary, but hardly anyone could be bothered with the spare even when I was still a Wayne, not when the heir was so much easier to love.” It is an old wound, one that barely hurts anymore, if he does not let it. “My supposed death will have made me more forgettable, not less. You could slap on a fake beard and a cosmetic scar and none would be the wiser.”

 

“Then why not send someone else to do the job if it's that simple? It doesn’t have to be you, Jay,” Roy argues. “Send some other Gothamite from our ranks, and then we’ll deal with the Waynes when the time comes.”

 

“And what if it is marriage, and what if it happens soon?” The rejoinder is almost automatic. “We can’t waste time passing letters back and forth, not on this. If we have to act, we must send someone who might have a chance at stopping the wedding, and I cannot think of anyone else who has more chance of success but myself.”

 

The silence that meets him is still angry, but less contradictory than it was a few moments ago. He knows he’s won them over, but just in case, he tries a softer approach.

 

“I’ll probably be the most dangerous person in Gotham when I go back, barring the Waynes. None of the regular riff raff will have anything on the Red Hood, leader of the outlaws and rebel extraordinaire,” that gets a laugh out of Roy, but Kori refuses to crack a smile. “And I won’t be doing anything dangerous if I don’t have to. For all we know, Ra’s is just vying to close some trade agreements or is on a diplomatic mission, and all this worry will have been for naught. If the whole thing turns out to be something so mundane, you know I’ll be joining you on Star on the fastest horse I can find.”

 

Which is all well and good, but that’s not the issue the four of them are all circling around.

 

“And if the royals find you?”

 

If the royals find him, Jason’s capture is all but certain. Even with all the bad blood and betrayal between them, he does not doubt the Waynes will do anything and everything in their power to keep him in Gotham. They had always been possessive and clannish to a fault, and in the end, only a faked death had allowed Jason any kind of freedom to pursue life away from their influence. If the plan fails, it will only be because the Gotham royals are somehow involved.

 

However, they will only start hunting him if they think he is alive. As long as he stays dead, as long as he never crosses paths with any of them, then he is reasonably safe. It’s a risky plan, but being an Outlaw has always been about risks. They would not been as successful as they are if they played it safe at the first sign of trouble.

 

He tells the rest of the Outlaws just as much. After a few more seconds of silence, Kori finally sighs in defeat. Roy just throws his arm up in the air and grumbles about stubborn asses, which Artemis takes as assent and heads out to begin preparations for the new plan. However, before Jason can take his own leave, Kori grabs his hand and and pulls him close, fixing him with a stare hard enough to shave iron.

 

“You promise not to do anything stupid in Gotham, yes? You will not put yourself in any more danger than you can possibly help?”

 

Her concern warms him. This is why the Outlaws are his family. Missions always take priority, because the rebellion is important and will always be greater than any of them, but he has never felt like he was only a body flying out to battle, inconsequential in the larger scheme of things. His friends have valued him more than any of his families, biological or adopted, have ever deigned to show him, and he has come to care for all of them, in turn.

 

That he would die for any of them does not bear saying. It is already obvious to anyone with eyes.

 

“You know I won’t. I don’t want to be stuck in Gotham again, not if I can help it.”

 

“And yet here you are, courting disaster with this very plan of yours.”

 

He shrugs.

 

“Aside from it being the plan that makes the most sense? I must admit I am . . . curious.”

 

Kori does not speak, which is as much a sign for him to continue as any.

 

“The justice they speak of, the one that prompted the whole criminal exodus in the first place. I had broached it with Bruce a very long time ago.” Back when he was still a prince. “It was the sticking point of all of our fights, that his kindness was causing suffering, that my determination bordered on cruelty. To see my suggestions enacted so, within a few years of my supposed death . . .”

 

“You think he’s done it because of you. For you.”

 

It seems arrogant when she says it like that.

 

“Maybe. But more than that, I want to know if he’s changed and if Gotham is better for it.” Now that he thinks about it, that has always been the point. Saving lives. Changing the word for the better. Even the rebellion is an extension of that. That Bruce might do it for him is also attractive on a deeply personal level, which he is self aware enough to acknowledge is one of the reasons he’s so drawn to return to the kingdom after all this time.

 

It seems he is not as unpredictable as most people claim him to be.

 

“It is a reckless plan,” Kori finally says. “But I understand why you are doing it. It seems . . . fated, somehow. Something meant for you.”

 

He agrees. He can’t imagine this whole thing going any other way.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entrapment and bargaining. Now with anal beads and nipple piercings.
> 
> As usual no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

“You c-can’t—” the words rasp like sand against his throat “—keep me here f-f-for-re— _aah_!”

 

Dick raises an eyebrow at him from between his thighs (where it seems like he barely leaves, his tongue or his hands or his face always attached to his flesh), barely pausing as he pushes a glass bead through his aching rim. The act is driving him crazy, because he can feel the muscle stretching hotter and hotter as it is forced to adjust to the girth of the sphere, until the sudden burst of release that follows, when the bead finally pushes past the ring of muscle to burrow deeper into him, makes him shake and groan with sensation. The feeling of being penetrated, of something passing into him and filling him with an undeniable weight, causes him to thrash against his restraints, and it is only by sheer willpower that he forces his body back onto the bed, heaving with pleasure.

 

He doesn’t know why he’s still this sensitive; he should be used to this by now but he isn’t. If anything, his body has begun accommodating the penetration and has stopped resisting as much as it initially had. Dick has recently settled into the habit of waking him with his fingers, either by plunging them roughly into him or sliding them slowly one at a time across the place inside of him that turns him into a writhing mess. When it had first started, one course of action was definitely more painful than the other. Now, he comes whether or not gentleness is involved.

 

His body has become this alien thing to him, wanton and licentious as any whore’s might be, and he wants to weep from the sheer humiliation of not only being turned into a plaything, but of enjoying being turned into a plaything (because why else does he keep on coming, why is his arousal ever-constant and unflagging? What other reason can there be but that _he desires this somehow?_ ). But he’s learned that there’s something about his despair that only makes Dick more cruel, more menacingly dedicated to taking him apart as completely as he can, so he buries his grief and rallies his rage, and tries to find out anything, anything at all, that might save him from this mess.

 

“If only you could see yourself now, little wing,” Dick murmurs beneath him, words slurred drunkenly against his flesh. “With a hole lush as ripe fruit, firm and sweet and just waiting to be taken.” Lips nuzzle against his thighs insistently, alternating between lapping after the bead and nibbling at the rim in the filthiest kind of kiss. “I could devour you all day and never tire of it.”

 

A playful pause and a quirk of a head. “But you were saying something?”

 

Dick’s smile is resplendent in its self-assurance. If Jason’s feet were not tied and his body were not straining in arousal, he would attempt to break the prince’s mouth open with his heel. As if sensing his thoughts, Dick moves to press a kiss to the arc of said foot, scraping the bone of his ankle with his teeth.

 

“The s-s-servants who clean this place will talk,” he grits out, struggling against his arousal and the hitching of his breath. “One way or another, it’s going to get out that there’s a prisoner being kept in one of the g-g-aah!-guest bedrooms. And then the king will find out you’ve been keeping me here all this time.”

 

Dick hums in agreement against his shin as he raises it at an even higher angle, propping it up against his shoulder to bend Jason in half. The bead inside him jostles, and it seems like it sinks even further into him. He barely holds back a moan, but only because Dick is now almost at eye-level, waiting patiently for any and every reaction. He’ll be damned if he’ll give him that much.

 

“And what do you think Bruce will do?” The prince’s eyes bore into him as another glass bead presses against his entrance, the curve of it teasing him in the same pattern as Dick’s tongue. It feels even larger than the first, and Jason tries his best to shrink away as far as he can. But there is little room to move, especially in this position, especially in these restraints, and his hole stretches wide again, opening in slow welcome at the next intrusion.

 

“He’ll— _aah_ —put a stop this. He’ll never stand— _nggh_ —for such a perversion. Sodomy and—” the second glass bead enters him with a slow pop “—incest _aaah!_ ” Once more he flies off the bed, only to fall back into Dick’s waiting arms. As if calming a startled horse, the other kneads the muscles of his torso in a gentle manner, cooing into his ear even as his finger pushes the beads even deeper into him.

 

“This of course, is all under the assumption that Bruce doesn’t know you are here.”

 

The breathe he was taking leaves him for an entirely different reason. Surely he’s misheard. Dick can’t be implying that—

 

“You assume that Bruce doesn’t know the exact moment I came back with you,” Another bead, another excruciating stretch as it slides into him, and _Jason is so full_ “and has not seen you laid out, tied neatly on the bed like a present, asleep but _here_.”

 

The idea is so unbelievable he cannot wrap his mind around it.

 

“This is all assuming that he’s not all but given me permission to sodomize you, as you so poetically put it.”

 

All of Jason’s thoughts halt as shock and denial surge and break upon each other. Bruce would never—he would never allow—

 

Dick is lying. Dick is lying to keep Jason from getting his bearings.

 

The first prince must read something of his thoughts on his face, but he does not retract any of his declarations.

 

“You don't believe me,” he grins in amusement, musing out loud as a fourth bead makes its way into Jason. “You think I am—” a finger chases soon after it, swirling playfully inside him and causing everything inside to shift in tiny excruciating increments “—what's the Lower Gotham phrase for this? Pulling your leg.”

 

He glances at Jason's shin propped up on his shoulder, and chuckles.

 

“I guess I am, in a manner of speaking. But not in the way you prefer, I imagine.” A fifth bead now, immediately followed by a sixth, and _god, how many were there?_ “But your suspicion is expected. After all, you have never been naive, even when we were younger.”

 

“So how about we make a deal,” Dick suggests. Jason snarls in response, lip curling over his teeth. He's not fool enough to believe anything that comes out of the Dick’s serpentine mouth.

 

“You want proof. Undeniable proof. And I'll give it to you.” Dick says, changing positions so that he is hovering over Jason, one arm holding him up while the other roam’s over the body beneath it. “I can bring you to Bruce, let you talk to him. For a price.”

 

A devil's deal, if Jason has ever heard one. There is no way he will have the upper hand, whatever the outcome of Dick's little trade might be, but the chance to get out of this damn room is an opportunity he can't pass up. And if he can talk to Bruce while he's at it . . .

 

He eyes the other suspiciously. “What's the price?”

 

Dick’s eyes flash with a strange light, bottomless heat and desire unmistakeable for a brief instant. “You will let me pierce you—” Dick's roaming finger flicks the bud of one nipple, “here,” then the other “and here.”

 

Realization crashes over him, turning the world on its head for a few moments.

 

“You want to mark me as a pleasure slave. Brand and disfigure me like a common whore.”

 

The fingers fondling his nipples suddenly turn vicious and pinch him cruelly. Jason cannot hold back the resulting moan. The pain is _exquisite_.

 

“You are neither common, nor a whore. That is not what this is about. But you will be marked, and you'll never be able to deny that you are mine.”

 

He is no one’s, he wants to argue, but he won’t waste his breath on his captor. Dick has gone, for all intents and purposes, completely insane.

 

“You can choose not to accept my offer, you know,” The other whispers in his ear. “I would not force it on you." A trail of kisses make their way down his neck, following its hollows and curves. "I can however, think of other things to pass the time.” The promise slithers under his skin like oil, hinting at a future just as vulgar, just as obscene, as the deal Dick promises. “I welcome the challenge to my creativity.”

 

This was all a trap, an elaborate deception to get him to consent to something. To being owned, if Dick is to be believed, but it is not as if he has any upper hand in this situation. He doesn’t even have the power to enforce his side of the bargain, only Dick’s word that he will fulfill his part. But as long as he is imprisoned here, in this room, on this bed, he has nothing, not even information, and absolutely no chance of escape. It is clear which option gives him at least the possibility to save himself, no matter how minuscule, and what option will drive him as mad as his captor. He has no choice, he does not mistake this for something as optimistic as that, but he’ll be damned if he does not _try_ , withwhatever circumstances life deals him.

 

“Fine.” Dick smiles widely at his acceptance, if it can be called that. “I’ll take your fucking deal.”

 

“I knew you’d see it my way, little wing. Now let’s finish up over here.” A hand is suddenly sliding downward, groping at a tiny ring lying forgotten by his entrance. “You might want to try to hold on to me for this.” Jason does his best to curl around Dick as instructed, because he knows how this is going to go, and he shivers unconsciously in anticipation. He cannot help that it feels good.

 

More than good.

 

Dick pulls the beads out of him in one single stroke, the muscles releasing continuously in a seemingly endless undulation, and he screams and comes so forcefully he blacks out.

 

He barely stirs from unconsciousness, even when Dick pierces his nipples soon after.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone else written so much sex that they've begun to lose words? How do you get over that?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Welcome back, Jason."

After a few days—weeks?—pass, Dick brings him a dark tunic and a pair of breeches, and then Jason knows. He is going to see Bruce today.

 

The realization sends a shock of excitement through him, and he tumbles gracelessly from the bed in his haste to inspect the clothes Dick has brought him.

 

His first thought is spent on gratefulness that at least, Dick isn’t going to dress him like a whore when he meets his adoptive father. There’s no gauze or sheer fabric in sight, and he could fall on his knees in thanks just for that. He had thought that given Dick’s current brand of cruelty, public humiliation would be all but certain, but at least in this, he had guessed incorrectly.

 

He has never been so thankful to have been proven wrong in his life.

 

Worries out of the way, the tunic falls like heavy silk over his fingers, and the breeches are made of leather so soft he could mistake it for butter against his skin. He’s forgotten how decadent clothes woven for the rich feel like, but he is struck all the same by the sense of promise they manage to convey, even after all this time. When he had been first brought to the castle and been made to wear the raiment of a prince, he had thought that in these clothes, he could be anything he wanted to be. In silk and velvet, he looked more than an orphaned street rat; he looked like someone stronger, braver,  _ greater _ than his past.

 

It turns out street rats are hardier and nobler creatures than the ones that exist at court, and there are some fates that cannot be changed, but still. The clothes are more than welcome in his hands, simply for the way they make him feel in control.

 

The moment he begins to remove the piercings on his chest however, Dick growls from the bed, where he has lain down to watch.

 

“Those do not come off unless I take them off, little wing.”

 

Jason would have argued under different circumstances, but all of his thoughts are taken up by  _ Bruce _ , and  _ help _ , and  _ freedom _ , so instead he just rolls his eyes and continues dressing. In a few hours, these rings will not matter anymore, and he is going to throw them into the sea the first chance he gets.

 

When he is done, he inspects himself in the mirror one final time, to smooth out any creases and to make sure he has worn everything properly.

 

A man in black looks back at him from the glass, face a little gaunt from what he is used to seeing, but still intimidating because of his height and frame. The high collar and the long sleeves cover most of the embarrassing marks Dick has left, and the ones that do manage to peek through blend well with with the dark fabric. The only spot of color on him is the short red cape on his back, ornamental in function but dramatic in its brightness. 

 

He does not look like a prisoner. He looks like a noble in the castle, here of his own free will.

 

“I cannot say I prefer you clothed, but seeing you dressed to impress definitely holds a certain appeal.”

 

Jason, feeling braver than the situation warrants, just raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Savor it, bird brain. I’m not getting naked again without a fight.”

 

An amused smirk forms on Dick’s face as he uncurls from the bed in a liquid motion of muscle. He is dressed much the same like Jason, covered in the same royal black except for the slash of blue across his chest that identifies him as the first prince of the kingdom.

 

“I look forward to holding you to that promise. But first, dinner waits. I’m sure you and Bruce have much to talk about.”

 

When they exit the room, Jason notices there is nothing around him but one long, windowless hallway. There are no other doors, no forked passages, or even alcoves to hide in. Just one long stretch of marble guarded by six men, armed with both arrows and swords, and if he had managed to escape from his prison, if he somehow managed to incapacitate Dick and made his way out of the room, he would have had to face them head-on, naked and weaponless.

 

This particular room is a new addition to the castle, one made to eradicate any possibility of a stealthy escape. Dick has . . . he has thought of everything in that regard.

 

The prince notices him noticing, and the smirk that has not left his face only grows wider.

 

“A new wing for my little wing, if I do say so myself.”

 

He barely holds back a grimace. “Your humour could have used the renovation more than the castle.” The doorway opens to another hallway, but this one is more familiar than the last. If he somehow manages to incapacitate the guards, it will be easy enough to escape from here. Plans form and reform in the back of his mind as they make their way towards what Jason remembers should be the Great Hall.

 

When they finally reach their destination, Jason startles a moment. There are . . . people inside. It’s not a large gathering, but this is not just Bruce who is going to be here tonight. His back stiffens into a ramrod straight line, a reaction trained into him at the mere sight of formal functions, and he immediately tries to retreat back into the nearest set of shadows he can find. Dick however, has other ideas, and an iron hand moves across his back and presses him steadily forward.

 

“What have you brought me to, Richard,” he whispers angrily beneath his breath.

 

“A meeting with Bruce, like I promised. However, the occupants of the castle have multiplied since you were away, and this is as good a time to meet them as any.” That does not ease his mind as much as it’s supposed to, but he lets himself be guided in, glancing at the other people in the room. There is a boy sitting on the table with a group of girls (“Lord Timothy Drake, here on vacation with his parents, and his friends, Lady Cassandra, Stephanie, and Suzanne”) and two redheads in deep conversation with each other (“Lady Barbara, who is the King’s guest while her father, Knight-Commander Gordon is on an expedition to root out the thieves in the south, and the Marquess Katherine, also on vacation”). All of them greet him cordially enough, but Lord Tim seems to take on a special interest, leaning forward as if sensing the number of secrets Jason is hiding, and he has to steel himself to remain impassive as stone.

 

When eventually Dick moves him away on one pretense or another, Jason catches the prince’s eye and murmurs “Where is the king?”

 

Dick tutts him, like he is some child to be handled, and he covertly steps on his toes and grinds them down hard in retaliation. Dick winces, which makes him smile sweetly in return. “Bruce has just returned from Nanda Parbat and we are expecting that he will have some guests with him. This is a small welcome celebration, in their honour and yours.”

 

“My honour?” What is there to honour? He’s been dead for the past two years as far as everyone is concerned, and been raiding the Gotham countryside as an outlaw. He has done nothing worth honoring, either in the past or present sense.

 

Dick seems to think differently and looks straight at him for one long moment. It’s a blank stare, lacking any trace of the viciousness or calculation he’s grown accustomed to seeing the past few days, but the eyes that bore into him are heavy with some other meaningful emotion he cannot decipher. It unbalances him, that look, because more than the monster he’s gotten to know, this is a side of Dick he has never seen before. It speaks of a person other than the boy he used to hopelessly chase after and the man who has been keeping him imprisoned in the castle. This look belongs to someone who knows something of the world and what it means to carry the weight of an understanding nobody should have to bear.

 

“Today is the anniversary of your death, little wing. We have been holding a special dinner every year since.”

 

“For what?” He had not been kind or endearing to any of them while he had been a prince. Far from it. He had been angry all the time, prone to disobedience and violent spite at the smallest provocation. He badgered Dick, fought with Bruce, and probably tried Alfred’s patience more than was advisable. He is honest enough to admit that he had been a difficult child to raise, pricklish and coarse especially in comparison to his predecessor’s irrepressible talent at just about everything. And this was not counting his final altercation with the king, the one where he had disowned the family and been disowned in turn, and his supposed death soon afterwards. He has not done anything worth remembering fondly as far as he can tell.

 

“What else? Because you were ours and we loved you.” As if things were that simple. As if there wasn’t an ocean of bitter history just waiting to swallow them all together at the slightest chance. 

 

_ Really _ . 

 

Something of Jason’s unconvinced incredulity must show on his face, because Dick hides a small laugh into the back of his hand.

 

“The trouble with you, little wing, is that you have always had such a limited range of vision. You think that all fights must be won because only winners can be loved, but that is only the beginning of the story. Love exists in either the losing or the winning sense, and all that matters in the end is that the people involved are all alive to realize it.”

 

The answer is so infuriatingly abstract and ungrounded in material reality that it riles him up even more, makes him want to respond and show Dick his  _ range of vision _ , consequences be damned, but the doors swing open before he can even start, and this time, it is the King of Gotham who walks through.

 

Bruce is—

 

The thought strikes him somewhere in his gut, driving all the breath right out of him. 

 

He is still so very much the same.

 

The way he stands, the way he carries himself. It all brings Jason back to the first time their paths ever crossed. He had watched from the rooftops and tailed this rich man as he entered the Bowery, and thought him a fool for leaving his horse in the middle of the street with no guards in sight or retinue to watch his belongings. Then, he had mistaken Bruce’s confidence for the brainless arrogance that most of the lords of Gotham were prone to displaying. Now, he knows that Bruce’s confidence comes from possessing complete control over himself, and consequently, the things around him as well.

 

As if hearing his name being thought, Bruce finds him almost instantly, and his face—

 

Jason cannot comprehend it, but it opens up with an emotion that resembles something like awestruck disbelief.

 

Before he knows it, he is being pulled into a crushing hug, and Jason has resisted many things, but this is beyond any form of will he can hope to muster.

 

Maybe later, he can continue where they left off, pick up and dust off all the anger and resentment that springs so effortlessly between them. But now—

 

“Welcome back, Jason.”

 

Now he is content to bask in Bruce’s warmth.

  
  


* * *

 

The others steer clear of them for the rest of the night, and Jason is grateful for their consideration. He and Bruce settle to talk in one of the darker corners of the room, still within sight of everyone but far enough that whatever they have to say can’t be overheard unless they want it to be.

 

He has many things he wants to say, but first—

 

“Bruce, Dick has turned mad. There’s something very wrong, he’s not in his right  _ mind _ —”

 

The words tumble out of him in a rush, falling all over each other in his haste to tell someone what is going on that he does not notice that he is clenching his fists into the king’s sleeve until Bruce puts his hand over his. Jason scans his face, takes in the calm in his eyes and the relaxed set of his mouth and realizes.

 

_ He’s not worried _ .

 

Alarm courses icily through his body and he slams his composure back in place as fast as he can. He is not safe here, the part raised by the Bowery shouts, picking up on a danger he has yet to fully understand. Slowly, he loosens his fingers one by one, and brings himself to relax his stance against the wall, trying to exude careless nonchalance while cataloguing all his possible exits.

 

Bruce watches him shrewdly the entire time.

 

“Dick was telling the truth.” The king’s gaze never falters at the accusation. “You’ve known about me and what he’s been doing the entire time. And you let it all happen, and you don’t care—”

 

This time, it’s Bruce who suddenly jolts into action. Like a mirror of Jason’s own previous desperation, a hand grips him forcefully between one second and the next, and if he had a lower pain tolerance, he would have gasped. As it is, it startles him into a silence Bruce wastes no time taking advantage of.

 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Jason. I do care. And so does Dick. We’re just more willing to show it this time.”

 

He snorts in reply and shrugs the hand off as best as he can. “Through sexual deviance and restraints, is that it?”

 

He sees Bruce grimace at the vulgarity of the accusation, but he does not look away from him. “You’ve never responded well to the old way we did things. Maybe it’s time for something new.”

 

This whole conversation has become unreal to Jason. He can’t believe what he is hearing. There is a stranger wearing his adopted father’s face and spouting terrible things through his mouth. Horror does not even begin to describe the magnitude of what he is feeling. There is a madness spread across the whole castle, and it has wholly consumed two members of his family.

 

“What happened to you?” He whispers faintly. “This is not who you are.”

 

As if a heavy weight is lifted from his shoulders, Bruce’s stance . . . does not relax so much as slowly lose the rigidity it has come to possess in Jason’s presence. For a few seconds, he closes his eyes, like he is remembering something from a long time ago, but when he starts to speak his voice is as sure and steady as any righteous man’s might be.

 

“How would you know? You have been gone a long time.”

 

Bruce says it kindly, but he recoils anyway like he has been backhanded.

 

“You died, and the grief was . . .” a dry clicking of a throat attempting to swallow and barely managing “it was unbearable. Then Ra’s came and he said he knew how to bring you back. So we made a deal, and now you have returned.”

 

Like a drowning man, he grasps desperately at the new information. “What was the deal?”

 

Bruce is now leaning against the wall, but his eyes open at the question. “To raise another from the dead, a price must be paid. To bring you back, one needed to offer one soul and one heart.”

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

“And you paid it?”

 

Bruce shrugs his shoulders loosely, like this answer to that question is inconsequential and needs very little thought. “Of course. Both Dick and I did. Him for the soul, and I for the heart.”

 

Everything swirls into place, or all the delusions fall away maybe. The changes in personality. The apathy and the deviancy. They had sacrificed themselves needlessly, and he cannot deny that that logic is Wayne logic, through and through. 

 

“It was an easy decision to make, in the end. I do not regret it. I would not it I could.”

 

All this pain because they loved him. All this suffering because they wanted him back.

 

It is a grand and sublime irony, and if he was not on the verge of weeping, Jason might have laughed at the sheer perfection of the trap. That he has suddenly been offered everything he has ever wanted but only through a mirror darkly? That all of the love he has ever craved is now his, through a curse?

 

He could not have built a better deception. He could not have written a more poetic catastrophe.

 

Letting his head fall into the well of his hands, Jason closes his eyes for a moment, and trembles.

 

_This is all his fault_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some clarifying notes, because I think the whole story has now gotten completely away from me:
> 
> • On Dick and Bruce's sacrifice: Because Dick has no soul, he is still capable of loving (to a certain extent), but does not care for the ethical considerations that go into loving, and so often falls into what he calls "excessive love" but which we all understand as uninhibited obsession. Because Bruce has no heart, he still has the ability to think of right and wrong in objective situations, but lacks the empathy to think about how a certain understanding of "right" can be terroristic or malevolent for the people it attempts to correct.
> 
> • On Jason and Bruce's referenced first meeting: Jason attempts to steal the saddle of the Bathorse. Thanks to El and her comment on Chapter 2 for helping me think of this.
> 
> • On Ra's magic deal: It's a deal built on fraud. Ra's didn't know Jason was alive when he offered the deal with Bruce and Dick, he was just taking advantage of the Waynes' grief. He was never going to fulfill his end of the bargain. At this point, only Jason knows that his family has been taken advantage of, and I guess that adds to the crushing guilt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update? *gasps*

He doesn’t resist when Dick leads him back to his room. He knows he should be trying to escape, but the weight of the past few days has crushed him of his usual drive. Maybe when he wakes up tomorrow, he will have a plan, or have the energy to make a plan, but for now . . .

 

He’s just so very tired.

 

Dick, out of some preternatural sense of intuition, is silent by his side, not saying anything as he pulls him toward the bed and begins to slowly undress him. Jason tries to batt his hands away, but the gesture is pathetic at best, and Dick continues to maneuver him like a rag doll, turning his limbs this way and that to take off his clothes.

 

“You are taking this hard.”

 

It’s not a question, so Jason does not try to answer him, content for once not to have the last word.

 

Divested of his garments, Dick pulls him onto the bed and into the curve of his chest, wrapping him up in his heat and the solid strength of his body. It's a strange fit but somehow he makes it work, and soon enough Jason feels himself slowly melting into the warmth, almost boneless until he remembers that his captor has no soul because of him.

 

“Dick,” he struggles for a bit, but the arms only tighten around him like a vice and refuse to release him. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

The embrace only eases when Jason gives up his efforts to break away, which does not last as long as he might have let it.

 

“I know. I want to though.”

 

And that was the fly in the honey, wasn’t it?

 

“What can you possibly know of wanting when you have no soul at the moment?”

 

He can feel Dick’s answering shrug through the muscles of his back, unworried and undeterred by the implications of his questions.

 

“I have no use for complicated philosophy, little wing. I only know what I want and what I feel.”

 

“And those are?”

 

“That I am glad to have you back.” A kiss by his ear. “That I never want to see you go.” Another kiss, this time on his jaw. “And I will do anything to make you stay.” A gentle press of a mouth on his, and like a fool Jason, does not fight back and acquiesces to the invasion, opening his mouth to the prying tongue.

 

“And what if I don’t want to stay.” He says after a while, looking straight into Dick’s eyes. “What if I want to leave?”

 

Dick’s gaze does not falter. “Why would you?” A curious cock of the head, and his resemblance to a bird resurfaces once again. “I would give you everything you have ever wanted.”

 

That rips a small laugh out of him, full of bitter irony that might have grated on anyone else’s nerves. _Everything_ he has ever _wanted_. He wants to throw his head back and howl.

 

“What would you know of the things I desire, Richard? You’ve fabricated this fantastical shadow of a character and draped him across this person you’ve caught in a stroke of luck. There is nothing real here, Dick. Not even you.”

 

He throws the words like knives, sharp-ends first and waiting to draw blood, but Dick remains undiscouraged by his blunt cruelty if the little kisses being pressed so carefully into his skin are anything to go by. He grits his teeth against the sigh building in his chest; the tenderness is flaying him open more than any toy Dick has used on him.

 

Not right, not right, this is not right.

 

“Jason Peter Wayne nee Todd: a boy born without wealth, soon found himself without family, and always caught in the crossfires of a life lived without justice. Even when we were young you always wanted to show that these losses mean little to you, but your actions belie your words, even until now. You want to be seen as ruthless, unaffected by suffering, no better than any madman with a knife. But I've been watching you for a long time little wing, and I know that anger is not everything you are. What you want, desperately but always so secretly, is to belong to someone.”

 

Jason’s heart is beating rapid quick inside his chest, like he is in danger and all of his escape plans have failed him. Dick strokes the skin right above it, like he is trying to memorize the beat with his fingers. “You don't know what you are talking about.”

 

“Don't I?” A knowing smile is pressed into his shoulder. “So contrary all the time. First you ask me what I know, and then when I tell you, you say they are not true. It’s the same with all those fights with Bruce about justice and vengeance, your aloofness with your merry band of outlaws, all that arson and the scathing retorts directed at every and any person who manages to get close enough to hurt you. Tell me, little wing, that those are not all tests of loyalty you purposefully set, tricks and traps you spring to see if the people who say they love you are committed enough to stay, despite the pain you purposefully and so carefully cause.”

 

He's shaking his head, but he's not quite sure what he is denying.

 

“You push so hard because you don't think what you want exists outside of your fantasies. You distrust my offer because you don't think it's something I even know how to give. Before the deal with Ra’s, I was too blind to read the hidden intent beneath the rage and believed all your posturing. But I can see so clearly now, through all these games all of us have been playing around each other. And I know that to convince you . . .”

 

Once again he is being turned, and this time he is facing Dick, propped up on his thighs so he has a full view of the other’s position between his spread legs. The prince’s weeping member burns hotly against him, a short distance beneath his own hardness, and it will only take a little maneuvering for him to slip inside Jason.

 

His rim clenches at the thought. He has been so open the past few days, and all this misguided care is taking him apart, piece by piece. Every day since his capture, Dick has been preparing him for this final perversion, and he would be lying if he says the trepidation does not also fill him with some kind of shameful anticipation burning hot and low in his gut.

 

“. . . I have to show you how far I’m willing to love you.”

 

From this angle, he can see the slow slide of the member as it nudges him, the head wet and smearing a trail of desire in its wake. Again, as if by magic, Dick produces a bottle of oil and drizzles it liberally over where they are touching. He has a full view of the proceedings, sees all that skin glisten as it is greased, how well they move together in the light of the lamps, watches his hips roll in subtle and uncontrollable reciprocation, snagging the head of the dick beneath him so it catches again and again over his rim. He sees how his body shakes with each press of skin, he sees how tightly Dick’s muscles are coiled to keep the tease going. Unlike their previous ventures, this encounter is tortuously slow, like water eroding rock into sand. He feels like he is losing his mind with every stroke, every threat of penetration. His knuckles are white against the sheets, but he still feels like he is sinking in a sea of thick feeling, gasping for air and enjoying every moment of it.

 

“Go on, little wing.” Dick says, and his fingers are pulling his piercings, fondling his nipples, and Jason keeps twitching like he is being electrocuted. “I’ve got you.”

 

Like a switch has been flipped, he thrusts his body the necessary distance across the last hurdle, and the hardness finally breaches his entrance and slides through him in one long glide of pleasure. He feels a long moan escape him as he is skewered open, defiled and humiliated by his submission, but the feelings only fan his arousal even higher as he falls and falls into an abyss of pleasure. It feels like it goes on forever, a drawn-out and undeniable impalement, but it’s over before he even realizes.

  
Dick watches everything with predatory fascination. As soon as he’s stuffed full, a hand is framing his face tenderly and a tongue is licking at his mouth in desperate hunger. Dick gives a small experimental thrust, but Jason is so sensitive it punches another moan out of him like he is dying.

 

“If I had my way, I’d keep you like this all the time, squirming and stuck on my cock, unable to deny the way we fit together.”

 

With his mind completely overwhelmed, his body reacts positively to the threat and begins to writhe on Dick’s lap, making little motions that seem to bury Dick farther in him. The movement is all Dick needs to begin thrusting in earnest, pulling out to the tip only to plunge himself back in viciously, molding Jason's passage again and again to accommodate the engorged shape of him nestled inside it.

 

“Yes, yes. Let me show you everything, Jay. Let me show you all the ways I can make you mine.”

 

He can barely remember anything after that. Hours turn into days that melt into nights as they pound into each other furiously, barely pausing for rest. He is taken in every imaginable position: while he is upright, bouncing on Dick’s lap like it’s what he was made for, back arched as his nipples are pinched and sucked into inflamed and tender nubs; the next he is on his side with his leg curled backward around Dick’s hips, clutching the sheets and gasping for breath.

 

His piercings especially seem to inspire Dick towards new heights of deviance. He wakes up in the middle of the night to find Dick adding little bells to his chest, so that every little shift and tremble of his body is betrayed by their ringing music. Small as they are, they still had a surprising heft, so much so that they pull at him with a hot unignorable ache. Jason can’t forget them; even if they are muffled against the pillows they still catch against the silk and leave him constantly tender and half-aroused.

 

The prince barely leaves him alone after that, not even to eat or bathe. Servants with trays of food enter the room while Jason is holding himself open for Dick to eat out, not saying a word even when their prince declares that he wants to fill both of Jason's mouths at the same time. The door is barely swinging shut before Dick starts to fulfill that promise, pressing a slice of fruit past his lips as he feeds his cock back into Jason’s puffy and abused hole. When Jason tries to bathe in peace afterwards, he’s taken against the mirror before he is even halfway done, one leg raised so both of them can watch the blurts of come slide in and out of him, smearing his skin along with the soap and water.

 

“I would take you in front of everyone if I could.” Dick whispers in his ear, his fingers diving in and out Jason's sloppy entrance in random intervals. “That way everyone will know who you belong to. I’d sit you on on top of me during royal dinners, have you warm my cock while envoys and messengers delivered their announcements in the throne room. I would even have you on my lap during council meetings to ensure I don’t fall asleep. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

 

Jason blushes hotly at the thought, but he's stopped explicitly disagreeing a long time ago. This late in the game, he is past denial. He cannot deny Dick’s desire when it is so evident, and he cannot deny that he likes the way it makes him feel. Now he lets his body do as it pleases, trying not to think about it, because any repudiation is withers away in the heat of the moment.

 

The bells jingle merrily in agreement when Dick pulls his fingers out and pushes him back down into the pillows once again, and their music continues to fill the room well into the next few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took a while, partly because I think I've exhausted all the kinks I want to explore, and partly because I'm busy with moving in the next few days. The last few weeks have just been terribly hectic, but your appreciation has just really helped me power through the tedious hurdles of the everyday.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are <3.


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